


first of the old forest

by paracyane



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author's Favorite, Developing Relationship, Dreams vs. Reality, M/M, Magic, Smoking (kind of), Supernatural Elements, vaguely canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paracyane/pseuds/paracyane
Summary: Demons lurk in the woods at night.
Relationships: Inunaki Shion/Adriah Thomas
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	first of the old forest

**Author's Note:**

> originally this was supposed to be based on the legend of the inunaki tunnel and village, but as it turns out that was too scary for me. however, this is still inspired by it. i wrote this for fun as an experiment just to try something different so naturally it is a mess. and of course, thank you shion for existing, none of this would have been possible without you

+

On his first night in Japan, Adriah dreams the same dream he has been dreaming for the past month.

It always begins the same way: he is at the base of the mountain, a winding road fluctuating on the ground stretched before his feet. He takes a step forward, and the road curves around the side of the hill poised for him to climb. He walks and walks and walks, and when he looks back he is not one pace further from where he started.

The sky changes color from teal to blood-red, the air lifting him up on his back so he can swim towards his destination. A tunnel lands behind him, but it is only when he scales the mountain on his hands and feet that he finds it again, boarded up and unwelcoming. There is no entranceway for him to pass through, so he climbs over to the top of the tunnel. Except for every step he makes, the tunnel grows in height out of reach. Soon, he climbs high enough that the wind pushes him off the side and plummets him towards the ground.

This is where he has been waking up for the past month.

Tonight, he does not wake.

+

When he opens his eyes, he is still on the side of the tunnel, which is only a short jump from the original path he walked.

This doesn’t feel like any of his past dreams. He lands on his feet, brushing off his palms on his jeans before straightening up to look around him. There is the sky marred by the sunset. The trees with their arms outstretched, holding their fingers towards the heavens. The mountain looming overhead with the ever-shifting dirt underfoot. The tunnel has moved.

There is nothing near breathing with lungs. The trees whisper contrivances that wrap around his neck and threaten to trample the one escape he knows how to follow, dragging him off the beaten path.

The tunnel—

The tunnel has moved.

It sits in front of him this time, as the trees relinquish their grip on his limbs. They have delivered him to the entrance, unboarded and clean, the rock making up its walls as shiny as if they had just been fished out of the ocean. One hand against them tells him that he is in the right place.

There are no lights to illuminate along the forward motion with which his legs are traveling. The darkness makes it unclear to him if he’s going in blind, or if this dream has taken away his sight. An eternity and an hour pass before he hears the sounds of birds, which he has never heard in this dream.

This dream must be different, otherwise there would be no lush garden that welcomes him with sunlight that is decidedly early morning. Despite the plentiful growth, the organization is haphazard at best, with there being little to no labels of what is included. He doesn’t know any better, so they may as well be weeds.

The birds are singing a melody that he has once heard in his conscious life, for which he cannot pinpoint a location or time. It exists on top of him, an extra layer that encircles the field of vision framed by the clouds that are dancing around the fading moon.

He closes his eyes. The surroundings quiet, a calm that progresses to eerie when he realizes he has no control over what he can and can’t see. The dream has taken his sight again, until there is a scream that doesn’t belong to him, echoing from the tunnel from which it was ripped.

“What are you doing here?”

The sun is hot on his shoulders. Adriah tries to turn towards the voice when a rumble shakes the earth, bringing him to his knees. He catches his fall with an arm before there is an avalanche-like noise overwhelming all of his remaining senses.

He can see again. He looks up to see the top of the tunnel cracking, the facade crumbling forward to hit where he had exited.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Adriah can see him now, the panic etched into his eyes as he grabs Adriah’s wrist with a hand much too cold to be safe. “You need to leave.”

He pulls Adriah up, waving a hand and sending the fallen rock flying to clear a path for Adriah. They are running now, but the tunnel is moving away, fading into the canopy of the trees. It continues until there is a final crash upon the ground, and it is resurrected with the familiar boarded up appearance.

“I’ve never seen the tunnel look like that,” Adriah says, when the dust settles. “It’s always boarded up.”

“You’ve seen the tunnel before?” the stranger asks, disbelief dripping from every word. “And you still came through to the other side?” He looks at the boards again and swears, dropping Adriah’s arm. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Where’s here?” When he turns the garden is gone. Instead, there are rows upon rows of dilapidated shacks, each more run-down than the next. “Is this Japan?”

“What do you mean, is this Japan? Where else would we be?” He frowns at Adriah, his hair floating up in a pale gold halo despite the absence of wind. “You’re a foreigner.”

“You’re speaking English.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

The stranger raises his hands. Adriah involuntarily flinches back, before he realizes that he’s sending pieces of the hardened soil into the boards of the closed tunnel. It has no effect, and eventually the trees creep forward to form a fortress around the entrance.

“This is a weird dream,” Adriah says.

“This isn’t a dream,” the stranger says. “You’re the unluckiest person in the universe right now.” He walks over to the trees and places his palm against the trunk of the nearest one. Light pulses from his palms as the tree grows taller and wider than the rest, overshadowing the tunnel until it is completely obscured. “I hope for your sake that the tunnel moves again.”

“But,” Adriah protests, “I’ve had this dream for weeks now.”

“This dream? This particular dream where you walk through the goddamn tunnel?”

“I’ve never walked through the tunnel before,” Adriah concedes. “But I’ve seen it a lot. It’s never let me enter until today.”

The stranger shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have come here, Adriah. This isn’t a place for humans.”

“How… do you know my name?”

“I said,” he lifts his hands over his head, clearing the cloud cover that had formed without Adriah realizing, “this isn’t a place for humans.”

“You’re not human?”

The stranger dances a flame at the tip of his finger, no larger than a candle before he swallows the fire down. There are smoldering flowers growing within his empty ribcage, that disappear when Adriah blinks again. “I once was.”

“Once was what?”

“Do you ever listen? I was once human. I’m not right now.” He huffs. “Is that clear enough for you?”

“Does that mean you have a name?” Adriah asks. Unbeknownst to him, the smaller trees surrounding the tunnel laugh as the growth spills over out of the stranger’s mouth.

Gently, as if he has done this a million times before, he plucks the largest bloom on top of his tongue. It twirls between his thumb and ring finger before being picked up by a hand from the sky which carries it away. “I do have a name,” he says. The sun resumes its full power, beating down mercilessly now that the clouds are gone. “It’s Shion.

+

There is a cabin off to the side of the village, nestled at the edge of the forest. Shion leads him there, and when Adriah turns to look for them, there are no shacks, no garden. There is only a field of tall grass, swaying in the wind that Shion breathes out.

“Don’t leave this place without me,” Shion says, once Adriah is safely inside. The room is completely empty, which is strange until Shion waves a hand and the exact interior of Adriah’s apartment in Hirakata City appears. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Adriah asks, amused.

“No— Just be quiet. I need to make sure you’re still alive.”

That he’s still alive? Adriah looks down at his body. It’s there. He is not wearing his own clothes but that doesn’t really seem important right now. “But this is a dream?”

Shion claps a hand over his mouth, as there is a rustle beyond the cabin. Adriah watches as another version of himself walks out from the bedroom, right through the walls. He is opening a box on the floor using a pocket knife, and within it there are a jumble of books and jerseys and what looks like silverware. He had never been very good at packing.

They watch the scene for a few more seconds before Shion waves his free hand, and everything is replaced with what Adriah thinks must be Shion’s normal decor. The lit fireplace flickers next to them, but it feels like ice when Adriah moves closer.

“What was that?” he asks, wondering if this would be a good time to bring up that this has to be a dream, with everything that is happening taken into consideration.

“When did you unpack that box?” Shion asks. He is filling a kettle with water. So there is running water in this cabin in the middle of nowhere. Makes sense, because this is a dream.

“Last night,” Adriah answers. “Before I went to bed and had this dream.”

Shion sighs. “This isn’t a dream, I’ve told you that.” He holds the kettle with two hands, and suddenly it is boiling. He conjures two mugs and pours hot water in each. “What do you want to drink?”

“To drink?”

Shion flicks a finger, and the mug floats its way to Adriah. He grips it gingerly by the handle. “Whatever you want, just say the words and it’ll appear.”

“Really?” This is the most realistic dream Adriah has ever dreamt. “Diet coke.” The water swirls dark brown. “Lemonade.” Light yellow. “Pink lemonade.” Pink. “Scotch, neat.” Amber. “Water.” Clear. “Vodka.” Still clear. “Lady Grey.” Dark. “Cosmopolitan—”

“Will you stop?” Shion is taking a sip of whatever is in his mug. “You’re wasting it.”

“How am I supposed to decide what to drink if I can have anything I want?” Adriah asks. “What are you drinking?”

Shion shows him. He is drinking hot water.

“Hot water?” Adriah looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”

Shion shrugs. “Stuff like that gets old real fast.”

“How long have you been at this cabin?” Adriah asks, after he decides on coffee with sugar. It tastes exactly like the kind he used to get before his early morning classes, back when he was in university.

“Longer than you’ve lived,” Shion replies, which sounds like a lie.

“How long have you actually been here?”

Shion puts down his empty mug. Adriah presses his own mug against his mouth before deciding against it, because it is still too hot. “What’s it to you?”

“When am I going to wake up?” Adriah asks, changing gears. “This is a weird dream.”

“You’re not waking up,” Shion says. “You’re awake now. You’re actually in this cabin on the other side of the tunnel.” He rubs two fingers against his temple. “You really had to do that, just couldn’t stop yourself, could you?”

“How can I be awake?” Adriah argues. “I went to bed in my apartment in Osaka, you just saw it.”

“I don’t think you understand what’s happening here,” Shion says sharply. “I don’t know what happened either, but you’re not in bed. You’re standing here, next to me. If you go to sleep here you will wake up here. You’re not dreaming.”

“But—” Adriah grips his mug tighter. He blinks once to see the ivy dotted with color wrapping its way around Shion’s sternum. He blinks again to clear the image. “How can that be possible?”

“Stay here,” Shion says tersely. “I won’t be long.” He opens the door, which flies shut behind his back as if it had been slammed.

+

Shion returns within three minutes, but he is sweating and completely out of breath as he leans against the closed door. Adriah hasn’t even finished his coffee yet. He takes another sip as Shion braces himself against the wall.

“I fucked up,” Shion says finally.

Adriah puts his empty coffee mug next to Shion’s. “What do you mean?”

“I fucked up,” Shion repeats. “I brought you here.” He swallows, voice shaking. His pupils are dilated as he pats around his chest, pulling a rose out from between his fifth and sixth ribs. He shreds the petals, throwing them into the air where they hover. They form and reform characters. They must be telling Shion something. “I didn’t— You never told me, I didn’t know—”

“I never told you what?”

Shion swears again, and the rose petals melt into nothing. “Fuck.” He glares at Adriah for some reason. “You never told me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How long was I gone, just now?” Shion pulls an armchair towards them, which he collapses on. He conjures one for Adriah too, and the kitchen shifts around them to become a living room.

“A few minutes, I guess. I don’t have a watch or anything.”

Shion rests his forehead in his hands. “This is the worst.”

“Can you stop panicking? How am I supposed to go back now? I start my new job in the morning.”

“The Jackals are fine without you anyway. If I were you I’d be more worried about the tunnel.”

“What— How did you know the team I’m playing for?”

Shion grins at him then. “Maybe I’m a god. I can do stuff like this, after all.” He opens his palm to show Adriah a dew-sized droplet that spins midair until it freezes into tiny crystallized shards.

“If you are a god then can you send me back, please?”

“I can’t do that,” Shion says. “You crossed the tunnel to the other side. I can’t change that. That’s the one thing I can’t change. If you cross back then the forest should let you wake up where you last were.” He sighs. “All these years, and you never told me.”

Adriah frowns. “Have we met?”

Shion waves a hand, and suddenly they are back in a copy of Adriah’s apartment. This time, there are no boxes. It looks like he has finished unpacking, and there are his photos on the side table next to the couch. There are two of his family, one of his dog, one of his team from high school, one of his team from university, and one of the two of them, Shion and Adriah, wearing the same tan-yellow jacket.

“Wait,” Adriah says. “I’ve never seen that picture before.”

“I know,” Shion says. “You haven’t taken it yet.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What else could it mean, Adriah?” Shion waves his hand again, right when Adriah glimpses another version of Shion entering. He disappears along with Adriah’s apartment, and they are back to what they had before. “I shouldn’t say any more.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Had that really been Shion? Adriah has never seen him before today. Nothing is making sense, which would be fine if this was a dream, but Adriah thinks he is starting to believe that it is not. “Tell me what you know.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already told you too much.” Shion looks tired. “It’s only been a few minutes for you, but I spent an entire day out there before coming back.”

“What?” That’s not possible. Adriah had been drinking his coffee the entire time. Shion hadn’t been gone long at all. “But it was only a few minutes.”

“For you,” Shion repeats. He touches the tip of his middle finger to the center of his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling. There is a gust of wind assaulting the cabin that breaks all of the windows. Water rushes in, and Adriah momentarily is alarmed before Shion opens his eyes again, and the mirage disappears. “I need some rest.”

“I want to go back to my apartment,” Adriah says uneasily. “I don’t know what’s happening here but I need to leave now.”

“You shouldn’t,” Shion calls out softly, when Adriah has a hand on the doorknob. “Don’t go out there. It’s not safe.”

Adriah peers out the newly repaired window. There is a meadow of grass outside, wildflowers clumped around the edges of the field. “How is it not safe?”

“This isn’t the world you know, Adriah,” Shion warns. “If you go out there the forest will eat you.”

“The forest will _what_ —”

“Just stay here for a little while,” Shion says. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I can figure this out, I promise.”

Adriah tries to turn the doorknob anyway, but it disappears from under his hand. The door is completely gone. Shion is unconscious in the armchair, body draped across it as he slowly falls off. Reflexively, Adriah catches him before he hits the floor, and when he does, the thing that catches them both is a bed. The blankets rearrange themselves on top of them either to tuck them in or trap them, and the last he checks, Shion is facing away.

+

He sleeps a dreamless slumber for the first time in a month. When he wakes, he sees that he is already sitting at a table, the bed nowhere to be found.

“What just happened?” Adriah squeezes his eyes shut to fight off how disoriented he is. “How long was I asleep?”

“Just a few minutes,” Shion says. It is still bright out and therefore impossible to tell how much time has passed. There are no clocks in sight. “I put a spell on the pillows.”

“What does that mean?” His head hurts, but Shion seems to notice and taps his pinky against the nape of Adriah’s neck. The headache instantly disappears. “How long have I been here?”

“Probably around half an hour,” Shion says, but he looks away. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Adriah tilts his head. “Sorry about what?”

Instead of an answer, Shion kneels to press the length of both his forearms into the floor. His brow furrows as he concentrates, and the ceiling opens up above them. When Adriah looks, the walls of the cabin have disappeared and they are in a field of grass, which quickly turns over into sand.

“Are you doing this?” Adriah asks.

“I am doing this,” Shion confirms. He lifts his left arm, stretching it overhead. Vines sprout from the edges of his fingernails and take root off to their side, weaving together to create a bench. It hardens to become wood even as Adriah watches. “Come here.”

Adriah steps closer, and where his shoe falls there are tiny sprouts the frame the footprint. The longer he stands in one place, the taller they grow.

“Don’t stay still for too long,” Shion warns. “Unless that’s how you want to die.” He waves his hand though to make them stop, so there hadn’t actually been any danger to worry about.

“Would it be better or worse than going into the forest?” Adriah asks.

Shion is humming, getting up from his knees and falling backwards to let a small canopy of green break his descent. “That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Lots of things, Adriah. Do you have any phobias? Can you swim? How fast can you climb? How fast can you run?” The sun casts a shadow across his face, even though there is nothing blocking the light. “Is this what you want?”

“What I want?” That doesn’t make any sense. Adriah sits down next to him, and in front of him a small patch of grass sprouts. He briefly thinks about making a flower crown, when the exact flowers he had been thinking about burst out of the ground. He stares before he says, “Are you reading my mind?”

“I don’t have to,” Shion says. “The cabin does that for me.”

So whatever Shion did, he must have been able to do within the limits of the cabin. When the flowers are tall enough, he picks the first few. “But you could read my mind if you wanted to?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. You’re the first person to ever come through the tunnel.”

He hasn’t done this in years, but his fingers remember better than his brain how to do it. He thinks about wire to have some appear next to him, already shaped to approximately the correct size. “If I’m the first person to come through the tunnel, then how did you get here?”

“I’m different.” Shion’s face is still cast in darkness. Adriah weaves the rapidly growing flowers as quickly as he can, and his patch of grass continues to supply. “I’m not like you.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Shion’s eyes flick towards the forest before they come to rest on Adriah. “Family business.”

“Family business?”

“Yes,” Shion says.

Adriah meets his gaze, and in his periphery he sees another rose budding near the base of Shion’s throat. This one is dyed green, the complete opposite of the one Shion had pulled out of his chest earlier. “Can you open your mouth?”

Shion surveys him silently for a few seconds before he complies. Sure enough, the green rose climbs its way onto his tongue, and Adriah waits to see what he will do next. Shion breaks off the stem at a sufficient length and places it on the ground next to him. When Adriah picks it up, he sees that there are no thorns, only smooth stem. The green petals are spreading wider, unfurling into a kind of bloom that Adriah has never seen before. He weaves it into the front of the crown, and as he does so the remaining flowers are bled green as well.

“That’s weird,” Adriah remarks, setting it down. The grass lifts it up, forming a pedestal. The sun ensnares it so it becomes golden, fit for a king.

“Out of everything you’ve seen so far, that’s what you find weird?” Shion almost laughs here, but right before the sound bubbles up beyond his cheeks, the shadow reappears. Adriah hadn’t even noticed the light until it was gone.

“This would look pretty on you,” he says instead of listing all of the weird things that he has seen so far. “Can I?”

The shadow across Shion’s face darkens, and Adriah wonders if it is his own doing, then. There is the sound of the ocean nearby, which would be confusing if this dream-reality hadn’t set the precedent that it did. He sits up to face Adriah, tilting his head down.

Adriah lifts the crown, and as he sets it down on Shion’s hair, the white strands turn a silvery gold and weave themselves into the wire. For an off-beat flicker, Adriah thinks he remembers something from a lifetime that he has not lived yet, but it eludes him when Shion leans forward, his mouth soft against Adriah’s.

His hands are already in Shion’s hair, so it’s easy to pretend like he had meant to be holding him. Shion is touching him in this order: tongue, hand, lips. Nothing else about him is warm. Tongue, hand, lips, then hand. Adriah shivers as Shion fits a hand against his neck to pull him closer, his mouth yielding like a surrender. If there was a surrender that Shion could ever give him, Adriah has a feeling that this would be it.

There is a moment where the wind shifts, and Adriah feels them being lifted up like he so often is in his dreams. Except this time Shion is submerged with him, and the water reaches up to their necks so much that they are weightless. There is a streetlamp floating next to them, which is actually an island, and then Shion is pressing him down onto dry sheets that do not feel like sand or water or metal but silk instead. No matter how many times they break apart, Adriah can no longer see the flowers within the cavity of his chest.

It hurts to kiss Shion. There are thorns at the edges of his mouth that just barely miss cutting him. They back away just out of reach as he takes Shion’s bottom lip between his teeth. It hurts to kiss him because this is like something Adriah has been doing all along, and not Shion’s first time receiving from him. And yet, this is the point where Adriah begins his journey on the path of memorization.

The thorns finally cut his mouth before Shion flies backward into the opposite wall. He is crumpled onto the floor when Adriah reaches him, except he is not there and it is only his clothes left in Adriah’s hands. Confused, he looks around to see that the cabin is empty save for the few pieces of furniture and the drafty fireplace. There are few drops of his blood on the floor, the only indication that anything had just happened.

He is not here. Shion is not here and Adriah is holding a shirt that is no longer here either, and the sound of a door closing wakes him up.

This is not like being woken from a dream — this is more like being crushed under the weight of the thousand year old tree that Shion cultivated in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” Shion asks, frowning. When Adriah remembers how to breathe again, he is choking on something that has lodged itself at the back of his mouth. Shion raises a hand to help, but the pressure disappears as quickly as it had come. “What just happened? Was that your coffee?”

“My coffee?” Adriah doesn’t know what he is talking about. “I finished that forever ago.”

“You’re holding it now,” Shion tells him. He looks down to see that his mug is indeed in his hands. There is no shirt. No flower crown around Shion’s head. No lamp post and ocean and field of sand. “How long was I gone?”

“What?”

“How long was I gone?” Shion asks again. He is not out of breath like he was the last time he asked Adriah that question.

“Just— just a few minutes,” Adriah manages.

Shion sighs again. Adriah doesn’t know what is happening but he raises his mug to his lips with shaky hands and downs what is left. “I fucked up, Adriah.”

“You already told me that,” he says.

“No I haven’t.”

When Adriah puts the mug down next to Shion’s again, he is almost completely sure there is something that flashes through Shion’s eyes. It shines for a millisecond before crowding out of reach.

Shion gets on his knees. His forearms are on the floor.

+

“I’ve made so many of these for you now,” Adriah says, for a lack of a better thing to say. This time he forgoes picking one of Shion’s flowers to incorporate into the crown before setting it upon Shion’s head. Golden again. A king among the beasts. “They all look good.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shion says lightly, as he accepts. He doesn’t kiss Adriah, this time. This cycle is longer than the rest, and Adriah revels in the light that shines upon Shion as long as he is able to look. Always, before the forest reaches into Adriah’s lungs and squeezes, he looks at Adriah with recognition in his eyes.

“Wait,” Shion says, as the invisible hand holds Adriah hostage. “Adriah, how many times—”

Silence. Then: “How long was I gone?”

Adriah looks up and sees Shion closing the door behind him. He is breathing hard. The mug of coffee in his hands is warm, and the concussed sludge of his thoughts catch up to him.

He smiles when he remembers, or maybe whatever he means to express is trapped beyond his reach. What else could he possibly say, if not, “Just a few minutes.”

+

Sometime after he finishes his coffee for the first time, Adriah notices a crack running through the wall of the cabin. Shion is preoccupied by the rose fragments lettering their way into ash as Adriah runs his finger along the first deficit he has seen in this dream. There is no response from the cabin as Adriah scrapes the edge of his fingernail under what seems to be wallpaper. It peels back relatively easily, but when he reaches a certain point, there is a boom of thunder loud enough to startle him back.

He looks at Shion who is frowning. “There shouldn’t be a storm today.”

“So you can predict the weather too?” Adriah asks, looking back. The crack in the wall is gone, erasing itself the moment Adriah had taken his eyes off of it.

“I am the weather, Adriah,” Shion says. His lips twitch, but he does not smile.

There is the fluttering of something that must have wings, the way it has caged itself into Adriah. If he were to localize it, he would imagine the mirror image of where Shion keeps his personal garden of flowers. What could have crawled its way inside, when Adriah had been looking elsewhere? Growth has always suffocated him. At least the dream got this fact right.

If the melody was playing again, it would be more important that Shion hears it too. Adriah holds his hand out, palm up.

Shion looks at him, so much quiet as calculating, before opening his mouth to speak. Except instead of words, there is a single blossom edging its way across his tongue. Plucking it, Shion crafts something that looks like a cross between a hairpin and a headband.

“It’s not really my type,” Shion says, as he surveys his work. “I prefer them thinner.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to be,” Adriah says, lowering his arm. Shion’s eyes follow the movement, as he raises whatever he has just created higher, until it encircles the base of Adriah’s neck. “Is this a gift?”

“Well,” Shion says. “It’s true that I’m giving it to you. Isn’t that what a gift is?”

Adriah goes to touch it, but Shion intercepts that hand. He leans slightly away. Not a rejection, but an invitation, clearly. The cabin plays the song, the one that has been flickering meteoric across the sand filling the fishbowl of this dream. Shion places his head against the trapped wings of Adriah’s chest as they sway on their feet, where he must think Adriah cannot see him.

Shion has a mole on the side of his neck and irises the color of the ocean during a storm. They change when the wind cards through his lashes each time Adriah looks away, just when he thinks he could not lose the memory. It lifts and sorts, and drags it along the wet ground which would occur with a storm.

When Adriah takes the lead, Shion hovers up so they are facing each other. Shion breaks away first, opting to press his mouth above where the choker wraps around Adriah’s neck like a brand. There is a slight shift in the way Shion breathes, which is more desire than there should be. Desire that crawls into the crevices between Adriah’s ribs like there is no barrier from the outside world, and fertilizes the plexus that feeds the cage.

Despite it being impossible to tell where the source of the music is, Adriah thinks it sounds like the sight of Shion smiling, while his eyes drip into the bottomless non-explosive caldera, eroding away what was once fearsome.

+

When Shion is laying on his back in the field of sand, Adriah asks him, “Were you in love with me, once?”

“No.”

Adriah cringes. “That was fast.”

“Ask the right questions, Adriah,” Shion says, and there is no shadow obscuring the blurred rain of his expression. He sits up, bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it with his own hand. When he exhales there is no smoke, and the flowers in his ribcage reach further beyond. He catches Adriah looking, and offers it to him.

“I shouldn’t,” Adriah says. “I’m a professional athlete.”

“I thought you were convinced that this is a dream,” Shion says, amused.

Adriah shrugs. Shion is about to pull his hand back when Adriah takes it. He can feel Shion looking at him as he takes a drag, their mouths simultaneously far and close. He has never smoked one of these before, but even he knows that this is not what nicotine tastes like.

“What?” Shion asks, when Adriah brings it to his lips again. He exhales emptiness, evacuating his mind once, twice before clearing his throat. He fixates on the lines of Shion’s body until his eyes find their target.

The inside of Shion’s mouth, gold mirroring the blood in his own. Are they one and the same? “Nothing,” Adriah says, and watches the clouds take the shape of the sun in flight. He does not say, _it tastes like you_.

It turns out that there is no time to, because no later than his last exhale does the oxygen stale from his lungs again, and Shion reaches out in panic, the forest allowing the memories to return just long enough for Shion to begin to react before they are back in the cabin again, and Shion says, “How long was I gone?”

Adriah laughs, and puts the rest of his undrunk coffee down. Here again, the next time. “A really fucking long time, Shion. Where have you been?”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Shion says, like he is taking Adriah seriously. Or he has always been taking Adriah seriously, and the cycle would rather loop endlessly than to stop and fix the trivialities.

“This is a dream, right?” Adriah asks, to test the waters.

The remainders of the burned petals dissipate into smoke burning white. “If this was a dream—” Shion pauses, his mouth holding back what comes.

“If this was a dream,” Adriah prompts.

Shion looks as if he may have journeyed the planetary circumference, or the distance from the bottom of the ocean to the surface. Or like he has walked into the forest and lost whatever battles may occur in the realm of demons. “Dreams are dreams because we forget them,” he says finally. “So if you wake up and forget, then it must have been a dream.”

How cruel is he to imply that Adriah is not the one dreaming, but Shion instead? Framed by the light that pours through the roof, Shion looks like he is made out of porcelain and gold. Within Adriah’s mouth there is only an unfamiliar want, that fades away into nothing.

+

Once the sand settles, Adriah looks around until the cabin hears him. He bends over to pick up a volleyball, already sun-warmed and ready for them. It is a perfect copy of the one in his apartment. Holding it out to Shion, he says, “This is something I can beat you in.”

Shion looks skeptical. “I don’t know about that,” he says, but his mouth lifts like he wants to smile. “Don’t you know that I’m good at everything?”

They don’t need a net. Beyond a grove of beasts, Shion dives to save a spike and sends it flying upwards. Adriah admits, albeit begrudgingly, that it is a possibility that Shion is good at everything.

“You do this professionally?” Shion asks, as he brushes the sand off of his face. “Like, you get paid to be good at this?”

“You talk a lot of shit,” Adriah remarks, catching the next one overhand and sending it in a nice, easy curve. His feet sink into the sand and stay there. “Also, I don’t think this is a fair fight. I’m only human.”

“You say that like it’s putting you at a disadvantage,” Shion says, as he picks the wind up with his hands to clear away the sand that is piling up around Adriah. The ball floats above his head until he is ready for it. He receives it underhand and Adriah spikes it back. Shion makes no effort to retrieve it, electing to watch it slam into the ground. “You got that one in.”

“Because you let it fall,” Adriah accuses. “You can literally make the ball stop mid-air. That negates the whole purpose of volleyball.”

“Which is one of the reasons I don’t play it professionally,” Shion says dryly. “The main reason. Not, you know, the fact that I’m not a human being and I don’t live in your world. That doesn’t have as much to do with it.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Adriah thinks he might be imagining things, but the sand seems to be crawling up his legs. Shion notices, and clears it with a wave. “Why does it keep doing that?”

Shion does not answer immediately. He walks over to the ball, picking it up and holding it in his hands. Within his hands the ball sprouts wings, extending and growing until they are large enough to support its own weight. It circles around them. Adriah is unsure if the sight is creepy or inspiring.

“Look at this, Adriah.” Adriah tears his eyes away from the volleyball with wings to see that Shion is balancing a blade of grass on the back of his finger. As he looks, the blade widens until it becomes something that would approximately fit in his hand if he gripped the handle. It does not have a handle but a shell instead, which opens up to reveal a fish.

Adriah furrows his brow. “How is that even alive? Doesn’t it need water?”

“It has water,” Shion says. He is pulling some out from the air surrounding them with his free hand, working it so the fish can enter the pocket of water he has created. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“You, or the fish?”

“The fish, Adriah, the fish.” Shion’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “We’ve already established that I’m pretty. You don’t need to tell me twice.”

When did they do that? He talks like they have known each other forever, but Shion has no knowledge about the loop they are in yet.

Perhaps it is Adriah who is missing pieces of the puzzle, and the blame falls on him rather than the forest or the cabin preventing the sun from revolving onward. Far away or close by, in the near future or not, Shion will one day walk into Adriah’s home like it is his own. Even if this is a dream, Adriah somehow knows that that will happen.

“It’s not even satisfying to give you compliments because you don’t acknowledge them at all,” Adriah says. “You won’t give me a single reaction.”

“Maybe you should try giving more,” Shion suggests. “Maybe you haven’t found the right one that works on me yet.”

“So you expect me to keep blindly searching until I do?” Adriah asks. “That’s a lot of devotion and time you’re asking for.”

The sand is almost at his knees before he realizes how high it had gotten. Shion sees, but keeps his hands focused on the fish. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“Me,” Shion says. “Or more specifically, me asking you for things.”

Adriah blinks, feeling the sand travel past his kneecaps. “No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

“Oh, no reason.” Shion gently pushes the fish skyward, and it floats up higher and higher until it is out of sight. “Stuck, are you?”

“Just a little bit,” Adriah allows. It will soon be time again for Shion to walk into the cabin and ask him again, how long he has waited. He has lost track of how many repetitions Shion has performed. “Nothing too dire.”

Shion raises his hand, and Adriah thinks that he will remove the sand again, like he has been doing. Instead, he feels himself sink lower into the ground, stopping only when he has reached the proper height to be eye level with Shion. His face is unreadable as he brings Adriah to a stop.

Silently, Adriah meets his gaze until Shion lowers him further, so that he is a head shorter.

“Tell me what you hear,” Shion says softly, guiding Adriah to his chest, over the fabric of his shirt. “Describe it to me.”

His ear against the shirt, Adriah can hear the rustle of leaves amidst a bony enclosure. Perhaps he is confusing the sounds of nature with the sounds of Shion, because the quiet is unnatural.

“It hasn’t beat since I arrived here,” Shion says, before Adriah can decide how to phrase things. “Isn’t that weird?” He places a hand over the left side of Adriah’s chest. “Yours is still beating.”

He can hear it in his ears now. Has Shion always had that effect on him? Does he, or will he? “Well, yes. I suppose that is what distinguishes me from you.”

Shion hums, a nostalgic melody that the birds of this world had once sung for him, the one they had slow-danced to after Shion claimed him as his own. He wants to tell Shion this, like that would halfway explain at least one of the things he has noticed, but the sand is dragging him lower and lower. It’s time. They are pulled apart and deposited, back to where they began.

+

It never storms in this dream. Adriah spends the seconds and hours wondering if this is drought season. The sun does not budge from the altitude where Shion hangs it as a clock, gradually floating across like a boat searching for the shore.

How many times will Adriah look at Shion to be reminded that he is gold itself? How many times will it take for him to realize that Shion is the reflection of the sun on the sand which is not sand but glass, which part the seas when Adriah takes a step further? Next to the ice filled fireplace, Adriah is nothing but a boy.

“Can I listen?” Shion asks, and when Adriah looks up, he is in an armchair which becomes a bed, and Shion is lying on his stomach next to him. His head is propped up on an elbow, and there is something that carries the bouquet of light, wafting through the crack in the door.

He looks more curious, then anything else. Adriah nods, and Shion bears his weight on one arm to lean in closer. What it is, is this: Shion presses himself to the heart side of Adriah’s body, and his mouth to Adriah’s mouth. They are in the lake which is a field which is sand, and within Adriah’s arms is the manifestation of the forest’s woes.

It is and isn’t different from the first time, or the other time, as Adriah has begun to think of it. This time, Shion’s face is thrown in darkness not by his own doing, but by the laws of physics. What it is, is this: Shion touches him like he has never needed anyone else as long as he has had the lungs of a forest, as long as he has raised his hands to impart life on the soil that holds them aloft. Perhaps he has been touching Adriah like this before that too. Perhaps that is all he has ever done.

Only the shifting of the rocks in the garden of weeds bleeds into his ears as Shion parts his lips. The vines of his ribs threaten to bind Adriah to the earth and never let him go.

What it is, is this: If Shion never let him leave this dream then would he be able to escape? What is the pride of a human, next to the magnitude of a god? A god that inflicts no harm and comes back to him, every time.

“If this was a dream,” Shion starts, from where he is across the room, and next to him too. Before Adriah has a chance to reach for him, he returns. “Would you want to wake up?”

He is here and above and all at once. “Are you reading my mind now?” Adriah asks, and his laughter is much less nervous than it should be. Shion must be laughing too, from within the tangled mess that makes up their limbs. The softness settles, and Adriah thinks that this must be what it feels like come home.

“I don’t need to do that,” Shion says. He is so, so close. Adriah looks at him, something that rages beyond comprehension welling up in the back of his throat. It travels past the caged flutter that threatens to break free amongst the turbulence. “You’re so easy to read. I can always tell what you’re thinking.”

“You talk about me like you’ve known me for a long time,” Adriah says, even though he thinks he understands why Shion might do that. For different reasons why Adriah may do so, but Shion must have always been bad at keeping secrets from him. “When are you going to stop that?”

“That’s not something I decide, you know,” Shion says. “If you left I would stop, because you wouldn’t be here to hear it.”

“Just because I’m not here to hear it doesn’t mean you’re going to stop.”

The caldera within Shion’s eyes takes on the shape of creation. Where they must be diverging and converging Adriah imagines they stand at the edge of the mantle that barely manages to salvage their lives.

“How is it that you manage to never change?” Shion says, marvels, really. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who would actually come to this place.”

“I thought you implied that this was a dream,” Adriah says, and he knows that the answer will not come. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Why I’m here?” Shion swallows, but there cannot possibly be a need for him to do that. “Is that something you want to know?”

And who does Adriah think he is, to think himself capable of taming a god and bringing him to his knees? Everything comes together to recreate Shion, or maybe there is no need to bring something into existence that is already all that can be. In the field where there is no place for a worthless ego like his own, he feels the forest struggling to reclaim him once more. 

The cabin rears back to the moment that begins them anew. There is the distant memory of _yes_ and _more_ and _please_ that Adriah is almost certain is not his own, as Shion twists mid-air to find him again. As if he would not dream this dream, again.

+

“Could you show me my apartment?” Adriah asks, when they are in armchairs across from each other, in the kitchen setup of the cabin. Shion does not seem tired at all, and Adriah actually isn’t either. The magnetic call towards the sand almost escapes his mouth before Shion waves his hand to grant Adriah’s wish.

There is no one in the apartment. It is decorated and unpacked, so Adriah must be looking at his future, or this dream’s version of the future. They watch for a longer period of time than normal, almost a minute, before Shion brings them back.

Adriah looks at the way Shion is carefully holding himself, the curl of his hand on his knee and thinks he might understand.

“Were you in love with me?” he asks, careful to not disturb the ivy that has crawled across the floor in their silence, almost at his feet.

“No.”

“You’re so cruel.”

“What do you mean? You’ve never asked me that before.”

That may be one truth, but Shion is talking about something completely differently than Adriah. Shion picks up the ivy and breaks off the tendrils that are growing out of reach. Adriah makes to take them for himself, but they burst into flames before he can.

“You couldn’t just let me have that?” Adriah asks, when he sees Shion with his hand outstretched, palm still smoking.

“It’s not good for you,” Shion says simply, like that is an explanation. “Trust me.”

“I trust you.” Adriah watches the remains of the ivy smoulder until there is nothing to see. “Tell me about your family business.”

“My family business?”

“You said that you’re here on family business,” Adriah says. “At least, you once did.”

“I said no such thing.” Shion frowns. “What are you talking about?” He breathes to empty his mouth of flowers before he asks, “How did you know about the family business?”

“If you tell me why I’m here, then I’ll tell you.” Adriah looks over to see the ivy growing again, facing Adriah like the end of spring. “Can I touch you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Shion grabs the ivy and pulls it back, this time setting it on fire while it is still connected to him. He does not flinch as the flames lick around his torso. When it burns out on its own, he gets to his knees and leans down to his forearms to the ground.

“Don’t,” Adriah says. In the split second Shion is distracted, he gathers the cinders and throws them up in the air. Predictably, Shion contains them before they spread, and when he folds the bubble into his hands there is nothing left.

Shion opens his mouth to speak, but Adriah already feels the beginnings of the pressure on his throat. It is an early end this time. Maybe this is a punishment to strike him down where he stands.

“Shion,” he whispers, and Shion’s eyes widen when he realizes what’s happening.

“Fuck, _fuck_ — I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just—”

The water rushes inside through the broken windows, except it does not clear when Shion opens his eyes. The moon is out and there is a faint scream echoing in the back of Adriah’s mind as Shion reaches for him. He misses the first time but the vine has grown just long enough for Adriah to grab hold, as Shion blasts a hole where the door used to be and they are thrown unceremoniously into the open arms of the forest.

+

A dream within a dream, sometime before nightfall:

Adriah opens his eyes and sees the room awash in a sunset that bathes them in pink. Next to him Shion is sleeping, and the white sheet covering up to his shoulders is held by a hand that could lift a miracle and clone it. And then he is the one who is sleeping, or feigning doing so, and Shion looks down at him and the thoughts that fall flurry like the first snow to hit the ground.

Adriah is awake in a dream, and Shion leans down and whispers in his ear things that elude him: the dream’s one defense against the unforgivable. If he was able to recall this memory like it was his own, would it be a dream at all? Is a dream still a dream if long after it has passed, he lays awake to decipher it? If there is nothing to decipher but the gold radiating from Shion’s entire being to consume all that dare approach? If the gold envelops him in such a lovely warmth, that it could not possibly be what carries him away from this world?

The want in his mouth is not his own. Shion passes that burden onto him, while cursing whatever is more powerful than a god, for giving him his way. Shion thinks about this: the end of the nights he had spent looking for the one person who might be resilient enough to free him. Shion thinks about: what may happen, when said person arrives safely back to arms he will soon call home. The knowledge of that alone, no matter how fleeting, plunges him into the depths of a dream that he could spend eternity lost within.

At the peak of the mountain, Adriah dives in an ocean to follow him past the point of no return and drags him back on his hands and knees. The ocean that swallows him up to spit him out and leave him at the mercy of the beasts that had once imprisoned a god.

+

“How many times,” Shion pants, “was that?”

How many revolutions around the sun must they have traveled? Adriah lets go of the ivy, but it curls around his wrist when he does so. Shion follows his line of sight and does nothing. For the first time since Adriah has begun dreaming this dream, he is wet. It is dark out. His clothes are clinging to his body as he shakes the water out of his hair. “I don’t know.”

Shion is quiet as he watches Adriah start squeezing out his clothes to the best of his ability. He is standing there sopping wet with his hair plastered to the sides of his face, and the moonlight glints off of his back. The beasts of the forest are growing impatient of waiting.

The tunnel sits ahead of them, deeper within the forest. The cabin is already gone, and so is the village of shacks and the garden of weeds. There is only the edge of a cliff of darkness, and the forest.

“I’m sorry,” Shion says, after he dries Adriah’s clothes and himself with a touch. “That was my fault.”

“Just because you have all these weird powers doesn’t mean you need to take responsibility for everything,” Adriah says. “This is some wicked family business you’ve gotten yourself born into.”

Shion sighs, and the ivy advances further up Adriah’s arm. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He has never looked nervous before, but he looks nervous now, facing the boarded up entrance of the tunnel. “You need to go back.”

“I can’t, the tunnel isn’t open,” Adriah says, knowing full well that they are looking at the same thing. “What kind of dream is this, anyway?”

“Still on that, are you?” In the low light, he glows brighter than ever. Adriah has to force himself to look away. “How fast can you climb?”

“Not as fast as you can fly, but I’d put up a good fight.” Adriah tentatively takes a step closer to the tunnel. It stays where it is, so he takes another step, and then another. When he is an arm’s length away, he reaches out to put a hand on the rock.

As cold and unyielding as ever, it stands as immovable as the ivy that connects Adriah to Shion crawls onto the rock. It grows more quickly than it has before, and within minutes the entire surface of the tunnel is covered in it. When Adriah makes to climb it, the vines create footholds for him to use.

Shion flies up, and Adriah keeps pace with him on the staircase of ivy supporting him.

“How much further?” Shion asks, when they are reaching the tops of the trees. The sun hangs, dark, behind the moon above them.

“I usually don’t make it this far,” Adriah says, which is the wrong thing to say because the forest is listening to them. The next time Adriah takes another step up, the nearest branch whips around to knock him off, and he is suspended harmlessly in the air for a few breaths before he falls.

Shion screams when he does, and this is the scream that has been echoing in the tunnel and through the gaps of Adriah’s mind this entire time. A fragment of time lost from the future, meandering backwards until it found a solid wall to lean against. His fall slows as Shion holds the air around him to keep him from gaining momentum, when the branches snap alive to bind Adriah’s legs together, bringing him to the ground and dragging him deeper into the forest, past the tunnel.

“No, no—” Shion runs after him, and from his hands he is conjuring a ring of fire that he is using to burn away the branches. “Not him! Don’t take him!”

“Shion, it’s okay.” Adriah coughs, and the green rose is on his tongue. Uncaged, and ready to bloom. “See? This was supposed to be for you.”

“No,” Shion sobs, and there is a burst of energy exploding out of the crater of his chest that leaves everything around them frozen. He kneels at Adriah’s side, ripping away the branches until his nails are broken. Faintly, Adriah wonders why he would use his hands for something like this. “You have to leave this place. It doesn’t matter how.”

“You’re in love with me,” Adriah asks, but it is not a question. Even the tears on Shion’s cheeks shine gold. “You know me. Somehow you know me.”

“You have to go,” Shion says, cracking like a broken record, shredding the last of the branches off. Without even taking a moment to heal the small cuts on Adriah’s legs, he hooks an arm around Adriah’s torso and then they are flying. When they get to the entrance of the tunnel, it is dark but it is open, the shiny, ocean-made rock greeting him like the sun falls. “Go, now.”

“Come with me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Please come with me, Shion. You can’t stay here.” Adriah looks around wildly, and finally reaches his arm up to touch the ivy encircling the tunnel. Gladly, like it was waiting for him, it wraps around his wrist. “Come with me, please.”

“I can’t,” Shion says, heaving another breath. He looks ragged, his ribs empty. There is nothing inside, not one growth. With a start, Adriah realizes that the ivy must not have been connected to him for a while now. “If I leave this place then you might never be able to.”

“How did you bring me here?” Adriah asks. “You said you fucked up. How did that get me here?”

Shion re-wets his lips. His mouth holds the answers to the sins that have walked this path, and will do so again. “I messed up, Adriah. It’s too long of a story.” Around them the trees creak, life entering them yet again. Demons can be put to sleep but these cannot be exorcised. “I shouldn’t have wanted you here. Go, before it’s too late.”

“You said you weren’t human right now,” Adriah presses. “But maybe you could be again, if you come with me.”

“You’re disgustingly optimistic,” Shion says, exasperated even in exhaustion. A branch whips out of nowhere and Shion reacts in time, pushing Adriah into the tunnel and taking the hit himself.

It knocks him in the opposite direction as Adriah, but the ivy around Adriah’s wrist was cut by the branch as well, and instinctively latches onto its original owner. Adriah takes off running, and the wind carrying him forward is pulling along Shion in extension, as the entrance of the tunnel begins to collapse.

“Shion,” Adriah yells, and he hears footsteps following him, his heartbeat clanging in his ears so loudly he is afraid for the last time that he won’t wake up, until—

He is swimming again, lifted into the air under the blood-red sky. When he begins to walk, there is the winding road that adjusts itself to his path, the mountain under him when he reaches the peak. The sky drips down until the color is drained, and the only thing left above him is one stained petal, fragmented from the sun.

+

Was there something he had forgotten?

The tunnel sits ahead of him, open and inviting. There is a trail of footprints that light the way out, glowing even in the dark interior. Someone must have recently left, by the looks of things. Adriah looks into the abyss and takes a step forward.

A scream echoes within the tunnel, accompanied by an angry gust that knocks him back so severely that he flies into the edge of the mountain. The sky is bleeding on top of him, torrents of red rain creating rivers into valleys in the mountain, and Adriah is the foothold of the cavern. He climbs to the top of the cliff to survey his work. The ocean rock carves deep trenches into the sea, and Adriah does not check to see what is waiting for him before he jumps to wake.

He wakes in his apartment in Hirakata City. It is early morning and he has beaten his alarm. The beginnings of the day’s sun is filtering through his curtainless windows, as he swings his legs out of bed.

There are scratches on them. He frowns, running a hand over the skin to find that there hadn’t been anything there after all. His neck flashes cold, and he rubs it until the sensation passes.

There is no coffee in this apartment. He hasn’t bought groceries yet. The boxes in the living room create a good maze as he weaves in and out of them, in an effort to find what he needs for the day. His volleyball bag is next to the door where he left it last night.

He visited Musubi Arena once years ago, so it is somewhat familiar when he walks in. There are already some players gathered, and quick introductions are made before the official one. He is at the front besides Foster, as they are waiting for one more person to arrive.

And then, someone does.

Adriah looks at him and is reminded of shadows, of drowning and light, of wet ivy wrapping around his throat. A tunnel at the edge of the universe. A crowning of a boy who caught the sun in his hands and was held prisoner in the cage of forests.

He catches Adriah’s eye through the lens of a half-remembered dream. Neither of them show recognition. His mouth opens to show him:

In the caldera in which he had once laid his hands on to reach the summit of the mountain, there lies a lake. The lake is actually a field, and the field is actually sand. There are footprints etched upon the surface leading away from the ivy-colored rock blocking his path.

The road twists and does not leave. The ocean fills the lake, the field, the sand, and the sun raises its children to protect the sacred entrance holding secure its ground. He stands there and does not enter. He turns around to avert his gaze, yes, but more to search. Everything is gold in the false light. Time does not pass but it rewinds instead, over and over and over again until he can stick his hands into the heart of a god and claim what remains.

+

_How long was I gone?_

The gymnasium echoes their words normally, but with the noise that currently crowds its walls, it is near-impossible enough to distinguish each unique syllable. There is no way to know if he has just heard someone speak or if it is attached to a ghost fading away. The tide carries him to shore like it has been waiting for him, at the foot of the now-active volcano that shakes the earth. With the fire bleeding through the ash that seeps into the bottom layer of the sky, he can see the uncaged flutter of his chest take flight. The thing in flight is a fish, is a bird, is a blossom, that once yearned to be set free, and a god took pity and granted its wish.

What it is, is this: Adriah Tomas meets Shion here, when Shion’s hands do not yield gold but in exchange retain warmth from time to time. When light from the empty sky frames his body in what must be a dream that is waiting to be dreamt. The long-forgotten dream that is no more than a broken shackle trailing behind them, to mark their procession.

 _Here_ is the edge of the universe. Here is the high vaulted ceiling above the court. Here is the pit of sand wrapping around his ankles and dragging him under. And here is where Adriah relearns Shion (the boy, the king, the god) in this order: tongue, hand, lips, then hand.

+

What next?


End file.
